And That Is Why
by Lowlands Girl
Summary: [Pre OotP] Grandfather tells a favorite bedtime story, of a fair maiden named Maire and a young wizard named Brennan, and of hatred and fear.


**And That Is Why...**

_by_ The Eighth Weasley

"Just one more story, please, Grampa?"

"It's way past your bedtime, sonny. I promised your mother-"

"Please?" The little boy's blue eyes were so mournful and pleading that his grandfather gave in.

"All right," he said with a sigh, nestling the youngster on his lap. "Which one should I tell? You'll want to make it last the night," he added with a twinkle, as the little boy opened his mouth to make his request.

The boy nodded solemnly, his small thumb caught between his teeth as he thought carefully. "The story of Mirabel," he said finally. "Mirabel and Peregrine. That's my favorite, Grampa."

The wizened old man pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Well, let's see if I can remember how it goes, laddie... Ah, yes.

"Once upon a time," he began...

Once upon a time, when England was young and people much nicer, there lived a young girl named Mirabel. She was the fairest of the fair, people said - even the flowers bloomed brighter in her presence, as if trying to compete with her loveliness. And not only was she beautiful of face, but beautiful of heart as well - a kinder soul could not be found for hundreds of miles around the village where she lived.

Mirabel's mother had died when she was very little, so the girl was raised by her father, and her father's sister, who was a witch. But these were in the days when Muggles and wizards lived peacefully together, and the village revered the girl's Aunt, who was named Augusta, for her magical prowess.

But the girl's father, Marcus, while he loved his sister well, secretly hated her magical powers. He was as Muggle as Muggle could be, and a devout Christian, too, and could not bring himself to see his sister's abilities as God-given. Even such a simple thing as conjuring a flame sent quiet shivers down his back - such devilry it could turn into! - and when she would Transfigure small insects into coat-buttons, he had to fight with all his will not to flee the room.

But still, they lived peaceably, and Augusta and Marcus raised Mirabel with much love and affection, and each secretly hoped that the child would follow their chosen path.

Mirabel's eleventh birthday came and went with no letter from Hogwarts, and her father rejoiced in secret, while her aunt wept in private.

"Alas," she thought, "I must be the last of my line to be magical, and as no-one wishes to marry an old woman past childbearing age..." she sighed once, and turned back to her spinning with a determined cheerfulness. The girl was good-hearted, and fair, and would make a good marriage, and be happy all of her days.

It was not too long after Mirabel's twelfth birthday when her father Marcus received an invitation from the clergy to study away at seminary in the hills.

"Daughter," he said as he collected his things for travel, "I must leave you in the care of your aunt. I will be away for a year, seeking God's will as I can, for I feel in my heart that He is calling to me, calling me to His service, and that is a call I cannot refuse."

His daughter promised to be good, to obey her aunt, and Marcus walked off into the dawn.

Mirabel loved her father well, and missed him while he was away.

A year after his departure, she received a letter from a messenger on a black horse.

"Darling daughter," it read.

"I have found my true calling at last! God spoke to me in the wilderness here, sent me a vision of the future, and I saw myself as a monk for all of the days of my life remaining, and it was happiness. Do not miss me too much, for the Lord will provide for you what I cannot.

"Be good for your Aunt.

"Your loving father,

"Marcus."

And Mirabel wept, and mourned her father as dead. For she knew that she could never visit him at the monastery of the hills, for women were not allowed to pass the threshold of their sacred space. And Mirabel had only a month ago been gifted with the cycles of the fair sex.

She vested herself in black, and vowed herself to silence for a year and a day. To occupy her hands, she spun, and wove cloth so fine that folk from as far away as London marveled at Mirabel's weaving.

It so happened then, that a wizard happened upon Mirabel's weaving in a shop in London. This wizard was young, and handsome, and unmarried, and seeking a wife. He saw the beauty and craftsmanship of her work, and knew at once that this was no Muggle-craft. The cloth, when held by wizard-folk, filled the heart with a sorrow so touching and gentle that the young wizard was determined to bring happiness to the weaver.

And had rumors not spread of the beautiful young Mirabel of the Marshes?

So the wizard, whose name was Peregrine, determined himself to journey to the Marshes of the East, where Mirabel lived.

Peregrine was of the proudest lineage of his day - his ancestors traced back to the founding of Hogwarts itself. He had just completed his sixth year at the school, and had received many honors and acclamations as to his abilities. It took him little time then, to Apparate from London to the place where Mirabel's cloth took him.

The village, while not ravished with disease and famine, was a far cry from what Peregrine expected of the home of a beautiful, talented weaver-girl.

He sought out Mirabel's habitation, and was greeted by her aunt Augusta.

"I seek the weaver of this cloth," he proclaimed. "It is said that Mirabel the Fair weaves it in mourning for her lost father, and I wish to see her and speak with her."

"Mirabel has taken a vow of silence," replied Augusta, the witch, "and will see no visitors until she has completed her time of mourning. There is but a week left; if you will stay in the village until then, perhaps she will consent to meet with you. May I ask your errand?"

"I am unmarried as of yet, with a considerable fortune of my own. I seek a wife, and Mirabel's talent has made me much desire to meet her."

The aunt thought for a minute. Surely this man meant well? Mirabel was young, yet, but nonetheless a woman. She could make her own choices.

"Very well," she assented. "I am afraid I cannot offer you lodging here, but the inn has fine accommodations. Tell Mr. Woodhouse that Augusta sent you, and he will do you no disservice."

"Thank you, fair dame," he acknowledged. Then he bowed, as the genteel are taught, and strode away in search of the inn.

During the week he spend in the Marshy Village, Peregrine spoke with many a villager, who all acclaimed the girl's beauty, kindness, and talent, and spoke well of her witch-aunt. Peregrine was assured, then, that his new bride (for he was sure the girl would accept him - after all, he came from a good family, was not abusive, slothful, or prone to drink, and was much above what the girl could expect to find in a village like this) would not take his wizardry amiss. In fact, as Hogwarts did not accept witches in this day, he was not entirely sure that the girl was not a witch. The villagers all spoke of her talent, and as it was rude to enquire directly, he let it stand that she was most likely magically gifted. And if not, well, her weaving was gift enough!

The week passed for Mirabel as well. Her Aunt had informed her of the coming suitor, and despite mourning her father, she was excited. Knowing what the girl would want to hear, Augusta told her how handsome he had been, and well-mannered, and that (she had checked with some old acquaintances of hers in London) he was from a very old wizarding family, with an excellent inheritance.

When a week had passed for both of them, the three sat down over supper to discuss the future.

Peregrine was direct, but polite. "Mirabel, your weaving is the finest I have ever seen. And your beauty is unrivaled by any woman I have ever met in my travels."

Mirabel blushed. "I thank you, Master Peregrine. But please, you know all about me. Might a young girl know something of her suitor?"

Dame Augusta folded herself happily into the shadows. They were an excellent match, she could see. He might be older than she, but she would not object if the girl chose him.

"I come from an old family," Peregrine said. "We have an apartment in London, as well as several estates in the country. My father has been hoping to marry me off to a second or third cousin, to keep the fortune in the family name, but the women are not as fair as you, and nowhere near as skilled. Why, they sit all day twittering, and pretend to sew fine embroidery, but with naught for their efforts. Your cloth is amazing to the touch, and strong, yet delicate and light. 'Tis magical," he concluded, gazing at the fair maiden.

"I thank you again, Master Peregrine. Your words are as fair as your face." She blushed and looked down, for it was unseemly to look a man of marriagable age in the eyes when he was courting you.

The meal ended, and Mirabel and her Aunt had a whispered conversation in the kitchen. Her father would not care what sort of a marriage Mirabel made, as long as the girl was happy. And Mirabel certainly had no objections to a marriage to the handsome young Peregrine.

Dame Augusta and the young wizard talked long into the night arranging the dowry and the services.

"She is a Muggle," the witch told the young man, but he laughed gaily.

"She may not be a witch, but she has magic of her own," he said. Indeed, with his first look at young Mirabel, he had desperately wanted to have her to wife.

So Peregrine and Mirabel were betrothed, and Peregrine Apparated to his father's side, at their estate up North.

"I have found my wife," he informed the aging wizard.

"Is she fair? Is she of good heart?" asked his father.

"Yes, and yes. She is Mirabel, the weaver."

"Ahh, the weaver. I did not know she was of marriagable age," mused the old man. "And she is fertile?"

"She is but recently a woman, my father," explained Peregrine. "Her Aunt, a witch, has arranged everything," he concluded. "We are to be wedded in August. She and I can live in the village together while I complete my stay at Hogwarts."

It was common, in those days, for the young to marry early and move out of the castle into the larger spaces that Hogsmeade offered.

"I will find you a house, son, until your graduation," offered the patriarch.

"Thank you, Father."

And so they were wedded, and Mirabel was bedded, and by Christmastime she was with child. Peregrine's father was happily a grandfather.

Peregrine's father grew older, and older, and finally passed away just after the young wizard's graduation. And Peregrine inherited a large fortune, with many estates, and they lived happily. Mirabel continued her weaving, though not out of mourning, and was still acclaimed by many as a great weaver. Her cloth, now woven out of joy, gave the wearer - Muggle or wizard - a light heart when traveling, and the courage to face uncertainty. Yet Mirabel was no witch.

Then, when Mirabel was no longer young, and the family included four children, her father came down from his retreat in the mountains to visit his aging sister.

"Where is my daughter?" he inquired. For, as a monk, he was unable to send missives to the outer world, for fear of losing his connection to the Lord.

"She is married, good brother, and happily a mother, with four children."

"Am I four times a grandfather?" exclaimed Marcus. "I would much like to see her," he said wistfully.

"Come with me," said Augusta, offering her arm for double Apparition. But Marcus shuddered.

Mastering his revulsion, for, while the work may be devilish, the woman was not, he asked if he could go the long way. "For I have not seen much country in these long years, and I would like to travel before I die."

So Augusta gave him directions, and he journeyed from the Marshy Village to Mirabel and Peregrin's rambling estate in the country.

And Mirabel was overjoyed to see her father. She showed him their home, and he met his four grandchildren, who were very much impressed at their grandfather the monk. And he met Peregrin, who, realizing that this was a Muggle, dampened the wizardry of the house to be less obvious. The pictures in their frames obligingly stayed still while the man toured the extensive manor. And, as house-elves were not yet in use in England (having only recently been changed by the Chinese from their more horrid origins - but that is another tale, one for another night!), Mirabel and Peregrine had human servants, who were very pleased to meet their mistress' father.

Peregrine, while happy to meet Marcus and even happier to see his wife so joyous, was very relieved when time came to say farewell.

But, as luck would have it (and it wouldn't be much of a story without this!) the youngest child, a cute girl of the age of seven, chose that moment to discover her talent.

The three others, all older boys and all attending Hogwarts, were forbidden from practicing magic during the holidays, and knew to refrain from mentioning magic in the company of a stranger, family or not.

But Silena, merely seven, but a baby, was not aware of the dangers present and did not understand. So when, in putting on his traveling cloak, Marcus accidentally knocked her favorite piece of china off the mantelpiece in the entryway, Silena cried bitterly and rushed over to the pieces. The little white angel lay shattered by the fire, and Peregrin and Mirabel both comforted their daughter as best they could.

"I'm so sorry, granddaughter," said Marcus, apologizing. "It was such a pretty thing, it was - your favorite?"

Silena nodded, gulping great sobs. "Daddy can fix it, can't he?" she hiccuped.

Peregrine and Mirabel exchanged a look. They knew that their daughter meant using _Reparo,_ but Mirabel was anxious to avoid doing wizardry in front of her father. For all night he had spoken of nothing but his joy that his daughter had found a nice, normal man to settle down with, and no work of the Devil was to be found under their roof.

"I'm sorry, daughter, but I can't fix it," said Peregrine. "Put the pieces in a pile for the maid, my child."

"But you can fix anything!" exclaimed Silena angrily. She was nearly hysterical, as children can be. "You've always fixed everything! I hate you!"

Mirabel attempted to shoo her father out the door before disaster struck, but her father, being a monk, was determined to comfort the girl.

"Do not hate your father," he chided gently, "and do not blame him. Sometimes God wills things that we cannot control, and cannot fix."

"But Daddy - Daddy's able to fix anything!" she exclaimed. "I don't like God if he won't let Daddy fix the angel!"

Marcus looked shocked, and sent a look of concern at his daughter. How could a girl reared in such a normal family have sentiments like that?

But Silena's wrath was not to be ever abated. She screeched and howled, and clutched at the pieces in misery, and lo! they began to float above the floor, and to spin gently around, like in a whirlwind, and were soon made whole.

"I fixed it, Daddy!" she exclaimed. "I fixed it just like you did, only - only I've got no wand!"

Marcus' control broke. "You're a wizard!" he shouted. "Mirabel, he's a wizard! And your - your children have this devilry! How has he been keeping it from you?"

"Father, please," she pleaded. "Peregrine's been keeping nothing from me, we-"

"Lies!" he shouted. "Lies, and sorcery! He must have you enspelled, with the powers the devil gives him!"

"No, father, he hasn't-" she tried to say, but Marcus was not listening.

"I did not raise you as a good Christian girl to be stolen off by one of them! I don't know how he's managed to keep it from you for fourteen years, but I -" he broke off as Mirabel's expression of sadness, and the protective embrace of her husband, reached past his blind anger.

The children were silent, aware that this was Something Important That They Normally Wouldn't Be Allowed To See.

"You did this willingly?" he asked in a whisper. "You knew?"

"Yes, father," Mirabel replied softly. "I knew, and his father knew, that he was a wizard and I a Muggle. It made no difference - you see how happy our children are, Father."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, this cannot be." He continued shaking his head, and sat down abruptly in a nearby chair. "I did not raise a daughter who would make such a foolish decision," he mumbled.

"Children, bedtime!" called the nurse from the stairs. "Say goodnight to your elders." With a chorus of goodnights, and a grateful expression from the worried parents, the children left.

The adults regarded each other warily for a moment, then Mirabel began to speak. "Father, please let me tell you of -"

"Daughter, I must go," said Marcus suddenly. "I thank you for your hospitality, but I will be off now." He gathered his cloak about him and left into the darkness.

Mirabel wept, for she thought she would never see her father again.

But a poison grew in Marcus' heart as he walked the lonely road to the nearest village. He felt a failure, that his beautiful, normal daughter, was entangled with - with those people. What were his vows as a Christian worth, if all his prayer and devotion over the long years had been unable to protect his own daughter from the Devil? And yet - and yet. He stopped on the road, a plan forming in his mind. All was not lost, he realized. He could save his daughter yet.

All through the night he thought, and thought carefully. It would work, but he would have to be careful.

The next evening he called at Mirabel's home, and she welcomed him graciously and happily. "Please, father, come in, the children are just sitting down to supper."

"I am sorry, daughter," said her father earnestly, "for my anger last night. It was a quick judgment, and one made of love for an only daughter. And yet I see that you are indeed happy, and I only wish you happiness." _Forgive me, Lord,_ he thought, offering up a prayer for redemption.

A knife flashed in his hand, and Mirabel was dead on the carpet.

A quiet maid observed all from the cover of her Unobtrusiveness Charm. Silencing a scream of horror, she ran to tell the master what had happened.

But Marcus had reached the meal table too quickly, and when she and Peregrin breathlessly arrived (the manor was bespelled against Apparition), all four of his children were nothing more than bloody corpses over the stark white linen. Marcus was standing over behind the body of baby Silena, the knife at his own throat.

"You wizards may have the power of the Devil," he said, "but God entrusted me with the happiness of my daughter, and He has given me the strength to fix her childish mistakes! I will see her in Heaven, a happy woman!" he concluded, and his eyes were wild with the fervor of the righteous.

And he stabbed the glittering blade into his own heart, and was dead.

Peregrine wept bitterly over his wife and children, lost from him forever. Such beautiful things, and so much left undone and unsaid! And it was because of her father's unwillingness to accept their difference that he was now forced to take a second wife to continue his bloodline.

His new wife was young and of high blood, nothing like his darling Mirabel. And though she dutifully bore him a son and heir, and raised the child properly, he could never love her the way he loved Mirabel...

"Peregrine was a proper father," concluded old Grandfather, "and lived to see his son married to a good witch and to see his grandchildren. I don't remember him much - he died when I was but your age - but he was never truly happy. He would laugh, and smile, but it was always as though something was missing.

"And that, Lucius, is why we have vowed to work against the Muggles, and why no child of our lineage is permitted to intermarry."

The boy sighed happily, a sleepy, dreamy smile upon his face.

"Off to bed with you, now," said Grandfather Malfoy.


End file.
